


Fallacy of Love

by heeroluva



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Asexuality, Dubious Consent, M/M, Past Abuse, Past Drug Use, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-23
Updated: 2012-04-23
Packaged: 2017-11-04 04:05:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/389560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heeroluva/pseuds/heeroluva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock's not all that interested in sex, but he never told John because in Sherlock's mind, sex equals love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fallacy of Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BrighteyedJill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrighteyedJill/gifts).



Sherlock forced himself to breathe evenly, swallowing down the one word he won’t ever allow himself to say. It was not as bad as his past relationships, but then there had never been anyone like John whom Sherlock would do _anything_ for if asked. At least John didn’t hurt him, not really, not on purpose, not in any way that Sherlock didn’t say yes to first. And at least John never lent him out to others. That had been the worst of it, and now there weren’t even any drugs to dull the experience. But Sherlock knew as John was possessive the likelihood of that happening was slim. Sherlock liked that. 

The first slide of skin against skin wasn’t so bad, but then John’s fingers found his ass and curling around Sherlock’s cock as John whispered dirty words into Sherlock’s ear. Sherlock whimpered at the touch, the sudden slide of John’s lubed cock into his ass, the burn of muscles not yet ready (never ready), and it could easily be mistaken for a good sound, an encouraging sound. Sherlock was good at those.

John didn’t last long, not after the blow job that Sherlock had given him, John having shoved him away, just before he came, wanting to finish in Sherlock’s ass before spreading his cheeks and eating him out until he came. But this time was different as John paused and twisted, reaching to pull something out from under the bed.

The first touch of something cold and unforgiving and _not John_ nudging at his anus, had Sherlock bucking and scrambling away. Not that, never that. He could for John, but this was too impersonal, too alien. The days that stretched into hellish nightmares as Sherlock was forced to wear the toy (what an erroneous name; toys were supposed to be fun) trapped in his ass keeping him hard, came back to him with startling intensity. Never again.

“Sherlock?” John questioned hesitantly, dropping the toy to the floor where it hit with a thud before rolling along the wood, finally stopping when it hit the wall. “Sorry. I should have asked. You don’t have to—” John broke off, his face suddenly stricken, reaching forward so fast that Sherlock couldn’t help the recoil.

John jerked back at the action, whispering, “Sherlock?”

Sherlock hand rose up, feeling the wetness on his face. Tears. He hadn’t realized he’d been crying. There’d been no reason for it. Not really. John hadn’t hurt him. He just couldn’t…

“What’s wrong? Did I hurt you? Let me—” John broke off again as Sherlock tensed as he reached for him.

Again Sherlock forced himself to breathe evenly. He was in control of his body. His body was just a house for his brain. He could make it do what he wanted. “I’m fine, John.”

“Fine,” John repeated flatly, the disbelieve clear across his face. “Did something happen? Do you want to end—”

“No!” Sherlock surged forward, closing the distance between them, wrapping his arms tightly around John. He was trembling, his body not listening to him. He was sticky and sweaty, and he ached, but he didn’t care if John was here. John couldn’t leave. Sherlock licked along John’s neck, trailing kisses up it, down John’s jaw. He kissed at John’s mouth, his tongue tracing the seam of John’s lips, but when John didn’t respond to it, Sherlock could feel the frown upon his lips. Hesitantly Sherlock pulled back. 

John’s arms finally rose, wrapping around Sherlock, preventing him from moving away. “Why are you doing this?”

Sherlock was confused. “I love you.”

The response that normally brought a bright smile to John’s face, just made his frown grown deeper. “Sherlock,” John began hesitantly. “What does love entail?”

It’s was Sherlock’s turn to frown at John. What a stupid question. John knew this. “Sex, of course.”

John drew a shuddery breath, his arms tightening almost painfully around Sherlock. “Always?”

“Yes,” Sherlock said, no hesitation. Sex was the key component, something Sherlock didn’t like, but could deal with to get the rest.

“And you want me?”

“Yes, John. I always want you,” Sherlock replied in his you’re-an-idiot voice. That’s all he ever wanted. Everything else was just periphery.

“I mean do you want sex. With me?”

Sherlock froze at that. The one question that John never asked. Every time John had tried to ask his preference, Sherlock had distracted him, with a touch, a kiss, anything to prevent the questions about what Sherlock wanted. Because the answer always the same, and Sherlock couldn’t say it. Even the first time, Sherlock had never let John ask, just gone along with it. 

The silence stretched between them and that was answer enough for John, who suddenly released Sherlock and turned as he was sick off the edge of the bed.

Sherlock’s hands went to John’s back, stroking, patting, unsure what he was supposed to do with this, uncertain why John was acting like this. 

Finally, when his stomach emptied, John wiped his mouth on the edge of the sheet and turned back to Sherlock, his face blank. “Every time, I—“ John turned and gagged as though the word made him sick. “The sex, every time, god, dozens of time, you never—” Suddenly on his feet, John scrambled for the door, not caring that he was naked, just needing to get out. Sherlock’s words stopped him at the threshold.

“Please don’t leave me,” the voice was a whisper, but so broken, the words speaking volumes. “The toy, if you want, I can…” 

John’s heart shattered and he stood between the proverbial rock and a hard place. If he didn’t leave, he might just hate himself more than he did at the moment, but if he left, the damage would be irreversible. “Just need to use the toilet, get something to clean us up. I’ll be back. Promise.” 

Sherlock shivered when John walked out the door and tugged on the blanket at the end of the bed, wrapping it around him like a makeshift cloak to hide from the world. John was upset at him, and it was something Sherlock did, always his fault. _A bit not good_ , John would say because as good as Sherlock was at faking it, at understanding and seeing so much, there was so much more that he was completely blind too, a whole world that was foreign to him. And usually it didn’t matter because it wasn’t important. Until times like now. 

Seconds turned into long minutes that caused Sherlock’s heart to race before John finally came back, his hair wet, face and eyes red, a wet cloth in his hand. He seemed hesitant to enter, but finally he moved forward, tugging off Sherlock’s blanket before hesitating again. This wasn’t his John; John was never so unsure. Sherlock tugged at John’s hand, the one with the cloth in it. Rolling over, he exposed himself. This part was never so bad, and the follow was even better because John always wanted to cuddle. 

When he was done, John didn’t lie down and pull Sherlock to him like he normally would, just knelt beside him and Sherlock turned over onto his back. He found himself tugged into John’s lap, John’s tears suddenly wetting his neck where he’d buried his face. 

And just as quickly, John was shoving him away, his grip bruising on Sherlock’s arms, his face twisted with anger. “I hate you so much right now.” 

Sherlock jerked as though struck, his face paling, eyes wide in shock at the words.

“Sherlock, I never would have—I never wanted to—I just wanted to love you. I don’t know who taught you that, that sex is love, but they’re wrong, Sherlock. Very wrong. Love is wanting to spend time with a person, missing them when they’re gone, wanting to make them happy and protect them. Sex can be a part of it, but it doesn’t have to be. If you’d said no, I would have respected that, but it wouldn’t have made me love you any less. Can you understand that?” John’s voice was desperate.

Sherlock’s brain whirled. That was parental love, familial love, but not the love between partners, which is what he wanted, needed. Hesitantly shaking his head, Sherlock dropped his eyes at John’s disappointment, hating that. 

John drew a deep breath, a shuddering breath, trying to center himself when he was so close to toppling over the edge into a giggling, sobbing mess. There was no time for that now. “Okay, okay. That’s fine. If I said, I never wanted to have sex with you again, not if you can’t say you want it and make me believe it, could you believe that I still loved you? Will always love you?”

No, Sherlock found himself shaking his head. No, he couldn’t believe that. That’s not how it _worked_. Trembling, Sherlock found himself gathered up in John’s arms again. “Please, don’t leave me,” he repeated again. John made life bearable and dare he say enjoyable, something he never had before.

Sherlock missed the sadness and disappointment that crossed John’s face as John petted his hair, stroking across his back as he whispered in Sherlock’s ear, “I’m not going anywhere. Shh. I’m here. Always. I promise. You’ll see. Someday.” 

Not understanding what John meant, Sherlock clung to him. Sherlock cursed his weakness, hating himself for ruining things. He knew that his actions, his refusal (he should have just let it happen, controlled himself) had changed things, that there was no going back. And despite how much he wished John’s words were true, Sherlock couldn’t believe them. Everyone always left.


End file.
